Chapter Text
“Blighted Deep Roads.” Fenris watched as Anders slid down the cold stone wall to slump on the floor. “I hate them.”
“Are you well?” Fenris whispered to Anders, his gaze dodging from Anders to the rest of the group and back. There was very little to suggest that any of the party was actually doing truly well. The only bright spot was finding the man they had been sent to find.
The man, Nathaniel Howe, was currently talking to Hawke and gesturing at Anders. Fenris watched as Hawke shrugged, her hands fluttering as she talked. Nathaniel shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
Anders tilted his head back against the wall and stared up into the dark gloom. “Nathaniel is arguing that I should return with him.”
That made Fenris frown. “I will not allow that to happen.”
“Yes well, he’ll still return to the Vigil and tell the Commander about me.” Anders hunched forward once again.
“And they may come to take you, and I still won’t let them,” Fenris whispered. They watched as Varric and Isabela joined in the discussion. “Hawke won’t let them take you.”
“Hawke…” Anders didn’t finish his thought. His head turned so that he could stare down the long tunnel they were sitting in, his breath catching in his throat. “Darkspawn,” he whispered.
Nathaniel was staring down the tunnel as well, seemingly ignoring the words being thrown at him. He turned that stare to Anders who nodded, jumped up, and grabbed his staff. “Darkspawn,” Nathaniel said. “A lot of them.”
“Big ones,” Anders added. “Moving fast.”
“Ogre. At least one.” Nathaniel pulled his bow from his shoulder. “They’re coming. Prepare!”
The Wardens that were with Nathaniel grouped together and formed lines across the tunnel. Anders joined Nathaniel at the back. It grew silent. Then Fenris heard it: the scrabble of nails on stone, the chitter of inhuman voices, the thump of something heavy.
The darkspawn burst from the side of the tunnel, paused for a heartbeat, and charged at the Wardens. Anders summoned a lightning storm over the darkspawn while Nathaniel began to pepper them with arrows. Weapons clanged as the Wardens began to bang and yell taunts causing the darkspawn to howl and froth at the mouth. The Wardens at the front screamed “for the Wardens’ as they charged. They met the darkspawn in a loud clash of swords and shields.
Hawke pulled her staff from her back. Fire coalesced in her hand. The fire twisted into a large writhing ball. Hawke gestured outward and the fireball flew at the back of the darkspawn horde. There was another rumble, another howl, and more darkspawn poured from a new fissure in the wall - this one closer to the group. Fenris gripped his sword, activated his brands, and charged.
Time slowed. He heard the twang of Bianca, the whomp of fireballs, his breath heaving, the whistle of his blade; he felt the jarring feeling of meeting bone and gristle, heard the wet squelch as he pulled free to attack again...and again...and again…
Fenris heard rocks shatter. Dust sprayed out in an arc and an ogre charged through the second fissure to the accompanied boom of rocks shearing away and dissolving into pebbles that clattered with pinpoint clarity. The beast swung its head and saw Fenris’ brands. He saw it pick up a boulder and charge him. He heard Anders’ scream his name.
Fenris’ heart raced and he refocused on the swirls of battle. A genlock’s sword swung at him and he blocked it. The boulder took flight. He blocked the sword and swung, gutting the genlock. He tensed his legs, bunching his muscles and felt a jarring shove. His feet left the ground and he slammed into the side of the tunnel, his breath knocked from his body. He leapt up and saw Anders prone, blood pooling around his head, the boulder on his leg, and the ogre looming over him.
Fenris saw red. He screamed and charged, his sword held in front of him like a lance. The ogre roared a challenge and brandished its meaty fists. Fenris saw the downward swing and phased through the ogre’s fist. He materialized next to the beast; the rank smells of rot, blight, sweat, and blood filled his nose, and his breath rasped in his lungs. His sword punched through the thick hide of the ogre, slid along bone and gristle to lodge at the spine. He pulled sideways, his brands flaring a hot white-blue. The sword slid through meat and bone and then out, the hot blood spilling over his feet and the dusty rock of the tunnel. The ogre gave a surprised grunt and toppled.
The group stared at him dumbfounded, mouths agape. He had no time for their shock. Anders lay unmoving, leg still pinned by the boulder.
“Help him!” Fenris yelled, throwing his sword down. “Healing potion. Who has a healing potion?”
Hawke came running forward, a potion in her hand. “We need to move that boulder before we do anything else.”
Fenris growled, his markings an incandescent blue white. He threw himself at the boulder, his shoulder slamming into the rock with a crunch. The boulder rocked and Fenris pushed harder. Nathaniel joined him and then Varric and Isabela. They strained against the boulder, shoulders and hands slipping over the rough rock. Fenris got a hand under the bottom and heaved up. Nathaniel joined him in lifting while Varric and Isabela pushed. With their help, they were able to push the boulder off of Anders. Fenris panted and fell to his knees, reaching out to slide one fingertip over the mess of Anders’ right leg.
It was luck that the boulder missed Anders’ knee; instead, his foot and calf took the brunt. His boot was shredded and stark white bone shards pierced the side of his calf. His foot was mangled. The visible skin was a deep purple, nearly black. Fenris inhaled sharply and then sat down. His hand hovered over Anders’, unsure if he should touch him or not. Tears pricked his eyes and looked away, ashamed of his fear, sick from worry, twisted over how to proceed.
“Broody, Hawke got a potion into him. He’ll be back to driving you insane in no time.” Varric had moved to sit with him, his voice gentle.
“He’s probably okay to move, but he’ll need to be carried.” Hawke was looking at Nathaniel. Before anybody else could say a word, Fenris stood and carefully lifted Anders.
“I will carry him out of here.”
“I didn’t think you would be the one to volunteer.”
Fenris clenched his jaw. “Later. We should see how far we can make it now. He should not be down here when he wakes.”
***
“So, Fenris.” Hawke dropped to the ground next to him. “What’s with the change in attitude?”
Fenris glanced up at her face and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t respond, just dropped his gaze back to Anders after a moment of silent staring. Hawke scrunched her nose and turned to look at Anders. He was pale and unconscious. His leg had been splinted and wrapped from knee to toes, and he lay propped up on Fenris’ pack. She reached out and brushed back Anders’ hair.
“Do not touch him,” Fenris growled. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Hawke. I…”
“What’s going on here?”
Fenris stared at the bandages around Anders’ leg. He could still hear the crunch of the boulder slamming into him, could still see the blood spread out under his head. Anders’ reddish-blond hair was matted with it, the strands stuck together and dirty. Fenris swallowed down the fear and ignored the tears that threatened to fall again.
“Fenris? You’re scaring me.” Hawke laid her hand on his shoulder. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”
“It’s not my place to,” Fenris said finally. “I...we...have…”
“All right. Hey, it’s all right.”
“We are friends,” Fenris said finally. “Beyond that… He is injured because of me.”
“I don’t think the darkspawn were singling him out.” Hawke squeezed his shoulder.
“He took a blow meant for me. He saved my life. How do you thank somebody for that? How do you… How do you treat them the same? What if he is permanently injured due to me?”
“Fenris. My sister gave her life for me, for Carver, for mother. Seeing her lying there, dead from an ogre attack…” Hawke covered her mouth and closed her eyes. Fenris watched as she gathered herself back together. “If she was alive, I’d spend the rest of my life showing her that her sacrifice wasn’t in vain. I’d make sure she knew how much I love and need her.”
Fenris frowned at Anders. “Will he wake up?”
“I think we’ll know more when we’re out of this wretched place. You should rest. One of us can watch him.”
“No. I will watch him. Thank you, Hawke.” Fenris hesitated and then touched her hand that was on his shoulder. “I am sorry for Bethany.” She squeezed his shoulder again.
He lay down next to Anders. Hawke stayed for a few more minutes before getting up to leave. When he was alone with Anders’ again, he looked up at the face of the man who had saved his life and wished that he could properly vocalize to his friends how serious he was about Anders. He lay there a moment more and then sat up and dragged his sword to him. He pulled a cloth from one of his pouches and began to wipe off the gore.
“Hey Broody, I got your tent up. Do you think we should put Blondie’s up?” Varric wandered over to where Fenris was sitting. He looked up from his sword, his hand still moving methodically down the blade as he cleaned it.
“He will be with me.”
“I gotta say, I’m surprised. I never figured you’d be the one to lose his cool when Blondie dropped. I always thought you’d dance a jig or something,” Varric said, curiosity writ across his face.
Fenris grunted and kept cleaning his sword. Varric moved to Anders’ other side and slowly sat down. He just stared for a minute, the wide-eyed teasing look vanishing. Instead, Varric’s face looked pinched and sad. “I hate seeing him like this.”
Fenris glanced over at Varric. “I do as well.”
“He should be griping about the Deep Roads with me, or talking about mages. Or even fighting with you.” Varric’s breath hitched. “Look, Broody, I just want to make sure you’re in this for the long haul. Blondie here, he’s had it rough. He’s never said, but I have eyes.”
Fenris put his sword down and turned to stare into Varric’s eyes. “I do not know what you mean, Varric.”
“Uh-huh. Right. Well...” A smile twitched up on his lips. “Hey. He’s gotta get better. How else will I tease him about this?”
“No stories,” Fenris said firmly.
“Too late. It’ll be a doozy.” Varric reached out and squeezed Anders’ hand. “Maybe the story isn’t better with the hero dead,” he murmured.
Fenris watched as Varric stood and headed to his tent. Fenris stood and carefully picked up Anders, taking him to their tent. He tucked him under the blankets, smoothed back his hair, and bent forward. “Wake up, Anders. I miss you.”
Anders didn’t move. His breathing remained steady. Fenris closed his eyes. “I will return. I must get my sword.” It felt strange to speak to Anders when he was unconscious; strange but right.
“Fenris, correct?” Nathaniel Howe stood just outside of the tent. “May I speak with you?”
“Speak?” Fenris moved around the taller human, and walked swiftly to where he had left his sword and pack.
Nathaniel followed him. “How is he?”
“Unconscious. Injured..” Fenris’ hands clenched around the pommel of his sword and he forced himself to relax and sheath his blade before he used it on Nathaniel. “It has not changed.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. There was no need for you all to come. We were fine.”
Fenris held up his hand. “Your sister spoke to Hawke. Hawke takes family seriously.”
“Still. I am sorry.” Nathaniel rocked on the heels of his boots and then blew out a breath. “So you and he are…”
Fenris arched an eyebrow, his eyes steady on Nathaniel.
“Just so you know, he was never very...monogamous...when he was with the Wardens.” Nathaniel grimaced. “Or well, he was very flirty.”
“You were together.”
“We were. For a while at least.” Nathaniel rubbed at his chin and then shrugged. “I wanted more. I wanted commitment.”
Fenris didn’t break eye-contact with Nathaniel. “He is not that man now.”
“I see. He’s lucky to have you as his champion.”
Fenris’ lips twisted into a sneer. “Hawke is his champion, and she will not let him go so easily.”
“And neither will you, I believe. I’ll have to tell the Commander that he’s alive, of course. I won’t lie to her. However, Hawke has told me of his work here. The Commander will most likely see fit to leave him here.”
Fenris bit down on a comment about templars and Justice. Instead he offered Nathaniel a curt nod and strode back to his tent. Pain was gathering around his neck and shoulders, and stretching up and over his head to tighten at the top of his forehead. He slipped through the flap, dropped his pack, and turned to tie the flap closed. Once done, he removed his sword, unbuckled his armor, and sank down next to Anders.
He stayed there till the call came to break camp.
***
“It is a concussion. He should not have been moved.” The Keeper was speaking. Hawke had opted to stop at the Dalish camp to see what kind of healing they could offer. So far, the amount was slim.
“Better to move him than leave him to die,” Fenris snarled.
“I understand that you made the best choice in a bad situation, but he hit his head very hard. He could stay. There is a chance that I could guide him back to you.”
“He will come home with me.” Fenris tried to swallow his anger. “And his leg? His foot?”
“You did well binding it. I am no healer, not like he is. I can tell his leg is on the mend, but his foot…” Her voice petered out and she sighed. “His foot will likely plague him the rest of his life.”
“Will he walk again?”
Marethari laid her hand on his shoulder. “Be there for him. This could make life in that city more difficult.”
Fenris knew what she meant. With Anders hobbled, it would be harder for him to avoid the templars or danger. He wondered what was worse: the knowledge that Anders might never wake up or the that he could end up crippled for the rest of his life.
He felt Marethari squeeze his shoulder. “Do not despair. He has you. I can see how much he means to you.”
Fenris shook his head. He wished he could say the words that others said in such situations: affirmations that yes, he had feelings for this mage. That Anders meant more to him than he had realized. The words, though, stuck in his throat. Instead of speaking, he sat down next to Anders and stared at his wrapped leg.
The last night before they headed back to the Deep Roads, they had sat in front of the fire together and shared a bottle of wine. Anders had looked at Fenris and, for a second, Fenris thought he was going to say something important. The moment had stretched on and then Anders had smiled and taken his hand. No words had been spoken, and Fenris had been left feeling like something important had been missed.
A moment squandered.
“Will he be ok to travel back to Kirkwall?”
“We can make a litter for him. It will take the strain off his neck and back. Talk to him. It will help him find his way home.” Marethari patted his shoulder. “He will return to you if he knows he’s wanted.”
Fenris didn’t watch her leave. Instead, he reached out and carefully stroked Anders’ hand. Again, tears filled his eyes and again, he blinked them back. Instead he took Anders’ hand in a careful hold. “I promise that you will not be alone. I swear it.” He held Anders’ hand until it was time to set up his tent.
***
“Are you sure you don’t need help? I can send Orana over,” Hawke said while hovering around Fenris.
“I can handle one injured mage.” Fenris built up the fire in the fireplace and then turned to frown at his friend.
“Do you have food? You still have corpses. Your ceiling has a hole in it.” Hawke crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her foot.
Fenris glanced up at the ceiling. “I will speak to Varric about the ceiling and the corpses. I should move to a room on the first floor so Anders can avoid the stairs.”
“Fenris, please let me help you. I can have Orana buy food and clean a room downstairs. You can’t do this alone.”
Fenris sighed, his shoulders drooping. “Alright, Hawke.”
“Tell you what. Bring him to my home for the next couple of nights so that Orana can clean. I promise to leave you both alone.”
“I will stay here, Hawke. We both will.”
Hawke grumbled, but stopped arguing. “I will send her over with food tonight.”
Fenris gave in and nodded. He waited for Hawke to leave before he unsheathed his sword and placed it near the bed. Next went the back sheath and his armor, all carefully laid out on a nearby table. He glanced at Anders, so still on his bed, and hesitated. He needed to bathe, but he didn’t wish to leave his mage.
He settled on filling a bucket and heating water over the fire. He stared at Anders as he wiped himself clean and then hesitated again. He glanced at the dirty water, then at Anders, and headed back into the bathing room to pump fresh water.
He lay blankets down on the floor in front of the fire and placed a couple worn towels on the chair. Gently, he worked open the buckles on Anders’ ridiculous coat. He peeled back the cloth of the coat, folded it, and laid it to the side. He rubbed the thin, worn cloth of Anders tunic before removing it. He also folded it and placed it on the coat. The one good boot was removed and placed on the floor, and then he untied Anders’ pants. With a soft inhale, he worked them down Anders’ hips and over his legs. Anders’ tattered smalls followed. Fenris picked him up, cradled him close, and then laid him on the blankets. Anders was more than slender - skinny and pale with bruises marring his skin. He traced over one of the scars on Anders’ chest and brushed his hand over Anders’ ribs. Fenris felt his heart squeeze tight, a breathless ache in his chest that made him shut his eyes. He could feel his ears pressed flat to his head, feel his throat close up and his lungs seize. For a brief moment, Fenris thought he would die like that - suffocating from fear and worry. Then his breath wooshed from him, and he sagged.
Fenris picked up a cloth and wet it in the warm water. Slowly, he smoothed the cloth over damaged skin, freckles, and chest hair. Fenris could feel his breath catching at odd moments as he cleaned Anders. It made him embarrassed and a little ashamed, to have Anders so vulnerable and think him beautiful - and a flush creeped up Fenris’ neck and filled his ears. He tried to keep his mind carefully blank as he finished washing Anders. A knock on the door disturbed Fenris as he was drying Anders’ hair.
“Come,” Fenris called, wrapping Anders in the blankets to hide his nudity. Orana stepped into the room and let out a sudden sob. Her gaze was focused on Anders.
“Orana. Hawke said you would visit.” Fenris stood. “I thank you for your aid.”
“I brought food for you both. There is a jar in the bag filled with hot broth for him. It will last through tomorrow. There are some meat pies, a loaf of bread, honey and butter, apples, and dried tea for you.”
“That is more than I was expecting.” Fenris stood and went to take the bag from her.
“Mistress Hawke said you could use help?” She handed over the bag and shifted back, keeping space between herself and Fenris.
“Orana?”
She glanced up at him. “Yes?”
“Do you wish to help?” Fenris stood there, fear and shame curling in his stomach. He could clearly tell she was nervous around him, and it bothered him. “You may decline.”
“Ser Anders was injured saving you. He’s a good man. He comes by to check on me. I got sick after I first...after…” Orana paled. “After Papa and Mistress...and Ser Anders healed me. He asked me before he used magic. He didn’t hit me or hurt me. He read me a story so I could sleep.”
Fenris turned to look at Anders. “He is a good man. A good mage.”
“I want to help. Please. I can clean some of the rooms downstairs, do laundry, cook some meals. Mistress Hawke, she has Bodhan and Sandal to help her. Who do you have to help you?” Her gaze met his and he could read the sincerity there. It helped. He shifted on his feet, finding it hard to maintain eye-contact.
“We will need a room with a bathing room attached. I believe there is a guest suite on the first floor.” Fenris forced the words out, gratitude making his voice rough. “If you wish to stay, you could find a room. I can pay you.”
The silence in the room was deafening. Fenris glanced up to see if Orana was still in the room, convinced he had chased her away. She stood silently with tear-sheened eyes. He took a step towards her, worry that he had unintentionally hurt her spurring him into the unfamiliar role of comforter. She held up her hand. “Thank you for letting me help.”
“But your tears,” Fenris said.
“I thought you would turn me away. I will come back in the morning and begin cleaning. I will bring breakfast.”
Fenris nodded and watched as she bobbed a curtsy and left. There was a soft moan from Anders, the noise wiping away all other thoughts. Fenris flew across the room to kneel at his side.
“Anders? Can you hear me?” Fenris cupped Anders’ cheek. “Please. Wake up.”
Anders gave another moan and then settled back into silence. Fenris closed his eyes and swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall.
***
Over the next few days, Orana became a bulwark for Fenris. She was the solid foundation he needed to help keep him grounded, the touchstone to his days of worry. She cleaned rooms, helped him move Anders, helped him feed and wash Anders, and took care of what seemed to be a million tiny little details that he would have never thought to handle. There was fresh food, clean linens, and clean clothes. Fresh towels sat in the bathing room. Soap was purchased that smelled herbal and fresh. Clean bandages were kept for Anders’ leg.
They settled into a comfortable routine. Fenris was surly at first - his fear and worry for Anders kept him from getting much rest. Orana respected his space and his grouchiness. She tempted him with meals, kept him from drinking too much, and when the emotions became overwhelming, would sit with Anders while he stalked around the mansion trying to quiet the voices that insisted that he would be left alone, that his mage would never wake, and that he had squandered a gift he hadn’t even realized he had in Anders.
When he would tire, Orana would still be there with Anders. She would sit and hum, patch clothing, or just rock and brush his hair. Her quiet and gentle spirit slowly soothed Fenris. Eventually , he was spending less time pacing and more time simply sitting. Sometimes he would talk about his day, sometimes he would remind Anders of an adventure with Hawke, and sometimes he would just sit and touch Anders’ hand. But he never had to do it alone. Orana sat with him, her presence grounding him as he hoped that Anders would wake.
It was a particularly quiet morning for Fenris. He watched Orana bustle from his first floor room, wondering how he had managed before she came to live there. Anders had been dressed in a clean sleep shirt and a poultice applied to his leg. Fenris was rewrapping his foot and leg with fresh bandages when Anders gave a soft moan. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. He was restless in his sleep and had fits of moaning and whimpering and sometimes twitching. Fenris hoped that meant he was mending and would wake soon.
This moan was accompanied by a stretch, the moan turning into a pained gasp as Anders flexed his foot. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and Fenris inhaled sharply.
“Anders? Can you hear me?”
“Fenris?” Anders’ voice was scratchy. “Throat is so dry.”
“You need water. Wait.” Fenris stood and went to the bedside table to pour a glass of water. He returned with the glass and carefully slid an arm around Anders’ back to lift him so that he could take a few sips.
“Where?”
“We are at home.”
Anders’ brow furrowed and he licked at his dry lips. “What happened?”
“There was an ogre. You threw me out of the way and saved my life,” Fenris said softly. “You have been unconscious for days now.”
“I hurt.” Anders voice was weak.
“You should rest. I will get a sleeping potion and an elfroot potion.” Fenris stood and put the glass on the table.
“Fenris?”
“Yes, Anders?”
“Why am I here and not at my clinic?”
Fenris frowned. “I will get you the potions. You are to rest.” He walked from the room. Elation mixed with worry and fear and tiny shards of pain at Anders’ question. He reminded himself that Anders had just woken up, that they had not talked, and that Anders needed time to heal and come to terms with the changes in his life. Still, patience was hard to handle, and Fenris wanted nothing more than to have Anders whole again and happy. He rubbed a hand over his face and forced himself to fetch the potions. Then he would sit by Anders’ side until he woke again.